


Cursed

by SophiaCatherine



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s02e05 Compromised, Gen, Possibly Pre-Slash, pre-atomwave, reaction fic, reference to canon character deaths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 18:27:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15125336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/pseuds/SophiaCatherine
Summary: Mick stalks back to his room and indiscriminately destroys a few things.He stops when his eyes land on the gun, reclaimed from Haircut for his own good, now sitting open on his desk. He slinks over to it, running his hands almost instinctively across the surface. Cold rises from the field, on standby—a ghost in the machine.





	Cursed

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts were from [Sparroet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparroet/pseuds/Sparroet) ("Mick thinking about his mom and sibs") and [Thette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette) ("Mick thinking about Len when Ray tries to be him"). Partly a reaction fic for _Legends of Tomorrow_ episode 2x5, 'Compromised'.

Mick Rory is a curse on everyone he’s ever loved.

He has sleeping wildfire inside him, and it only takes one spark to wake the monster.

Ray fucking Palmer can’t see he’s scurrying head-first into a dragon’s den.

* * *

 

_Reach me down some pepper, his mother says, stirring beef stew on the gas stove that will light the spark that kills her. She laughs as her murderer stretches on his tippy-toes towards the spice cupboard, forever out of reach._

* * *

 

He’s in the laundry room, kicking a gleaming piece of 22nd-century junk and wondering why he doesn’t just get some new clothes fabricated already.

“Hello,” Haircut says from the doorway, in a tone so cheerful that Mick has to fight the urge to switch to kicking _him._

“What?” Mick snaps.

Haircut, who never met a threat he didn’t want to rush in and shoot slightly to the left of, steps guilelessly into the room. “I can take a look at it for you, Mick.” He reaches across Mick for the buttons.

Familiar fists form either side of him. “Stop it,” he growls.

“It’s fine, Mick,” Ray trills. “I never met a machine I couldn’t talk to. Even these futuristic beasts.” He laughs and fiddles blithely with the controls, words fading into noise for a bit.

Then he fades back in, and Mick hears, “Can we try again with the cold gun later?”

The monster rouses.

Mick strides out of the room before he can break something that can’t be fixed.

* * *

 

_No, silly—you have to pour Jennifer’s tea first, because she’s the queen, says vivacious, spirited Mary. Her big brother obliges, tipping air from a flowery pot. He will find it later, under the wreck of the porch, warped into a wad of plastic so tiny he can hold it in the hollow of his hand._

* * *

 

Haircut kills twenty fucking beer cans before he gives it up as a bad job, but he’ll be back. He always is—puppy-eyed and rotten with heroics, and Mick doesn’t need any more death-wishing adrenaline junkies in his life. He doesn’t need Ray Palmer trying to be... _him_.

Mick stalks back to his room and indiscriminately destroys a few things.

He stops when his eyes land on the gun, reclaimed from Haircut for his own good, now sitting open on his desk. He slinks over to it, running his hands almost instinctively across the surface. Cold rises from the field, on standby—a ghost in the machine.

“Idiot,” he says to the air.

He doesn’t know which of the three of them he means.

* * *

 

_Shadowed against the blazing Eye, his partner comes as near as he ever has to ‘sorry’. And Mick should have known then, because with all the damage they’ve done with fists and shouted accusations and abandoning each other, they never burnt so close to the end of the fuse. Mick runs, like always, burning him alive as surely as if he’d lit the spark himself._

* * *

 

Ray crosses the streams in the White House, and Mick nearly rips the fucking gun off him for good, right then and there.

“What the hell did you think you were playing at?” he explodes at him, from where he’s sitting on the floor, the next time Ray inevitably drifts into his room.

“Sorry,” the jackass mumbles, looking at his feet. “I’ll be better.”

Mick bangs his head against the wall, but there’s no heat in it. “Just forget it. I can’t take any more of this shit.”

Ray visibly sags. “I said I’d stop trying to change the gun—”

“This is not about the gun!” Mick roars, pulling himself up and advancing on Ray so suddenly he shrinks back against the door. It hisses open behind him, and he stumbles a little way back into the hallway. “This is about _you_ , you freak!”

There’s that old familiar _oh_ jangling in his head—but the words are out now, so he barrels on, following Ray into the corridor, and jabbing his finger into his chest as the burning rage sets in. “You go out there with that gun and your death wish, you’re gonna end up like the last person who thought it made him a hero.”

And suddenly he doesn’t want to be having this conversation anymore. Dropping his hand, he turns away.

“Mick, wait—” Ray starts, grabbing his hand.

Mick pulls back, disappearing into his room.

The door slides shut behind him.

* * *

 

_The warehouse in Shreveport is surrounded. Mick lifts his flamethrower, igniting the wooden floor between his crew and the cops at the main exit, leaving a path clear to the underground tunnels. He ignores the panicked shouts of his name. He strides into the fire, pouring out a deluge of flame. Behind him, a faceless crew member drags away Mick’s partner, who will always believe that Mick just lost control._

* * *

 

He stares at the gun, dismantled in little pieces in its box.

Then he gets up, heading out to find the latest fuckwit he’s apparently looking after. Since no one else is going to. 

* * *

 

_Stop, and be you, Mick told Ray._

_Stay,_ _he didn’t say._

* * *

 

Mick finds him sitting on the Waverider’s open hatch, staring into the dark West Virginia forest. He doesn’t turn around. “I found your gift,” Mick says.

“I tried to put it back together. There’s not enough left. I’m sorry.”

He shrugs. “So? ‘S just a gun, Haircut.” He steps out into view of Ray’s face, wide-eyed and painfully open. Mick has to fight not to take a step back.

“It was _his_ gun.”

Mick scoffs. “You saved, what, a hundred lives in there? Like some gun matters, compared to that.” He drops down next to Ray, his back against the edge of the ramp. “It’s just a gun,” he repeats. He pauses, following the line of Ray’s gaze into the forest. “Good way for it to go out. I think he’d have been proud of ya.”

Ray’s eyes get wider, and he breathes “Really?” like Mick just said something inconceivable.

Mick snorts and pats Ray on the back. “Yeah, Haircut. Yeah.”

Ray’s laughter is so damn happy, Mick almost—not quite—joins in. And finally he turns to look in Mick’s direction, his face betraying a heart that Mick could break with one word. But he won’t.

Ray smiles, and the fucking sun comes out. “Still partners?” Ray asks, his eyes twinkling a little.

Mick laughs, quiet and deep in his chest. “Sure. Partners.” Mick passes him a beer, descending into silent thought for a moment. “He made his choice,” he says, after a minute, not looking at Ray. “You make different ones, ‘kay?”

Ray’s nod is almost imperceptible, as he returns his gaze to the forest—but it’s there.

When Haircut actually suggests watching the damn _sunset_ together, Mick finds himself saying, “You watch that. I’ll watch a fire.”

The boy scout has a bundle of logs in front of him before he can change his mind.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to several wonderful people who looked at parts or all of this for me: [unwittingcatalyst](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unwittingcatalyst/pseuds/unwittingcatalyst), [kleptoandpyro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Le_Me/pseuds/kleptoandpyro) and [Thette.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thette/pseuds/Thette)
> 
> Comments very welcome. I always reply!
> 
> On tumblr [here](https://sophiainspace.tumblr.com/).


End file.
